Chapter 8: Eyes Behind the Veil

The Leaky Cauldron buzzed with quiet chatter the evening before students were set to return to Hogwarts. In a cozy corner, Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat nursing their drinks. Tension simmered — Ron grumbled about Crookshanks, Hermione defended her new cat, and Harry, quieter than usual, brooded over the Ministry's restrictions and Sirius Black's escape.

The door creaked open, and a gust of warm air swept through.

Ron's eyes narrowed. "That's Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy, clad in tailored charcoal-gray robes and a traveling cap, walked with quiet confidence toward the counter. The trio watched as he spoke with Tom, booking a room under his real name — Draco Malfoy — citing "family errands" in London.

"That's suspicious," Hermione whispered.

"He's probably up to something," Harry muttered.

Later that night, Draco descended for dinner, choosing a quiet table near the fireplace. He ordered roast beef and butterbeer and sipped slowly, eyes scanning the room until they landed on the familiar trio.

His eyes lingered on Hermione. Books and films didn't do her justice, he mused. Her features had matured — sharp mind behind soft curls, and a grace no written page could capture.

Ron caught Draco's gaze. Scoffing, he pushed away from his table and swaggered toward him.

"What's this? Malfoy, dining with the commoners? Don't tell me the family vaults are finally empty."

Draco sipped his butterbeer with unhurried grace. "And yet, I still manage to look better than your entire family dressed for a wedding. What's this, Weasley? A Ministry-sponsored vacation to Egypt? Or is your family working here to pay off the room bill?" He flipped a Knut on the table. "A tip — for the poor service."

Ron's face turned scarlet. He took a threatening step forward, but Harry and Hermione intervened.

"He's not worth it," Harry muttered, holding Ron back.

"Let's go," Hermione urged.

As Draco stood, he let his eyes drift over Hermione again, slower this time. Just as he passed, he leaned in and whispered, "You look... lasciviously tasty tonight, Granger. Like dessert."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock. She spun to glare, but Draco was already halfway up the stairs.

"What did he say?" Harry asked.

"Nothing important," Hermione replied too quickly. But her mind spun. Malfoy was up to something — and for once, she wasn't sure what.

..................

The night wrapped around Draco like a second skin — cold, whispering, and electric. Shadows clung to him as he moved through Knockturn Alley, every step measured, deliberate. He wore no mask, yet his features were veiled beneath a Disillusionment Charm so refined it shimmered with a silver undertone.

The old alley was alive tonight — not with people, but with secrets. The kind that hung in the air like incense smoke, clinging to your clothes, seeping into your soul.

Draco didn't flinch as he passed two beggars locked in a silent duel of wills over a coin. Nor did he glance at the hag who hissed an offer of prophecy from behind cracked teeth and clouded eyes. He wasn't here for distractions.

He was here for Garrick Hollow.

The cursed tapestry guarding the shop's entrance pulsed with blood-hungry runes. He could hear them hum — old, forgotten magic still awake and thirsty. Draco raised his wand and, with a smooth, practiced motion, traced a counter-sequence midair. The runes quieted, reluctantly letting him through. A slight shiver crawled up his spine as he stepped through the threshold.

The shop was dim. Glass jars lined the shelves like trophies — grotesque contents floating in amber fluid. The air was heavy with crushed herbs, something sour, and a lingering scent of regret.

Then came the voice. Slick, smug.

"Back for more, boy?"

Draco didn't respond right away. He let the silence stretch, let it become its own answer. He moved deeper into the room, letting Hollow see him now.

He didn't look like the frightened teenager who had once walked in, eager to purchase rare ingredients. No, this Draco was taller, more still than he had any right to be at his age. His silver eyes didn't flinch. His grip on his wand was light — but ready.

"I'm not here for a refund," Draco said softly. "I'm here to remind you that theft has a cost."

Hollow laughed — a sound full of teeth. "You want a duel, pretty boy? You think I haven't faced angrier brats with shinier names?"

The first spell came without warning.

A flash of red — silent, fast. Hollow's wand soared out of his hand and hit the far wall with a sharp crack. Before the man could react, Draco's second spell knocked him into a shelf, the glass shattering around him like rainfall.

"No dramatic speeches," Draco muttered, stepping over the broken glass. "No monologues. You don't deserve them."

Hollow tried to crawl, blood on his lip, panic breaking across his face in waves. "Wait — please. I didn't know — I thought it was just another—"

Draco silenced him with a wave of his wand. Literally. The man's mouth vanished from his face and then is stuck by another spell that made his body below his neck become stone.

He knelt beside Hollow, pulling out a slender silver vial. "This is Veritaserum. I modified it. It burns going down. Try to scream, and you'll choke."

Draco tilted the man's head back and forced the drops between his lips. Hollow thrashed, but Draco didn't flinch. He watched him swallow.

Then he waited.

A few seconds passed. Then he spoke, voice low.

"Who are you?"

"...Garrick Barnett Hollow."

"Bloodline?"

"Barnett family. Last of it. I killed my brother for inheritance."

Draco's face didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. Calculating. Cold.

"Magical education?"

"Durmstrang. Expelled. Blood magic."

"Clients?"

"Rosier. Carrow. Lestrange… sometimes the Burkes."

"How many shops do you own?"

"Seven. Hidden. One under another name."

"Anyone who would come for you if you disappeared?"

"No one. No friends. No family. No heirs."

Draco stood up slowly, his movements smooth, almost elegant. He pulled the Veritaserum from the man's system with a complex reversal charm. Hollow blinked through fog, then realization.

"Wait… no… what did you do to me? What did I say?"

"You gave me everything I needed."

Draco's voice was almost gentle. Almost.

He raised his wand again, but this time there was hesitation. Not out of mercy — out of pain. The spell he was about to cast… it wasn't normal. It had taken months of research, experiments that nearly killed him. It fused Imperius magic with something deeper — neuro-alchemical formulas pulled from Muggle psychology, reinforced with magical structure.

**Draco's thoughts stirred like a storm behind his eyes.**

*He thought I was naive. A boy desperate for status. He gave me powdered root laced with dark enchantments, told me it was unicorn liver. Nearly killed me. I had seizures for two days. My skin peeled, my magic fractured. And when I returned, he laughed in my face.*

*I let that go. But only for a time. Not out of fear — out of preparation.*

*Now? Now he'll pay. Not with pain. With erasure. With obedience.*

He whispered the incantation.

A searing pain tore through his temples, eyes stinging. His breath hitched. Blood welled at the corner of his mouth — a side effect. It always came.

But the spell took root.

Hollow's body went still, his mind cracking open like a book under Draco's will.

**Draco's internal voice echoed again.**

*This wasn't the Imperius Curse. Not anymore. That was crude — domination by force. I rebuilt it. Rewired it. I studied synaptic manipulation. Muggle neural inhibitors. Blended them with magical compulsion. It doesn't just control the body — it syncs with the soul. They don't know they're under it. They rationalize every command as their own decision.*

*They become loyal. And they never know why.*

"You will obey me," Draco said through clenched teeth, wiping the blood away. "You won't even realize you're doing it."

He handed Hollow a quill and parchment.

"Write letters to the old bloodlines. Ask for emergency loans. Two point four million. Collateral: your properties. Promise twenty percent interest."

The possessed man nodded, began writing — each letter meticulously composed.

Draco didn't speak for a while. He watched the man work, each stroke of the quill a stroke of retribution. His hands flexed in his pockets, jaw tight.

This wasn't vengeance, not really.

It was principle.

When the letters were sealed, Draco issued the next command: "Go to Gringotts. Secure a loan on every vault and property you have. Personal loan. Business loan. Use the same reasons. Secure at least Three million Galleons."

The man moved like a puppet on silk strings.

When he left, Draco exhaled slowly. The silence in the shop was louder now.

He moved from shelf to shelf, raiding every artifact, every rare potion. Not for the gold — that would come — but because knowledge, ingredients, and leverage were better currency.

He paused before the hidden wall. A pulse of detection magic, a twist of alchemy, and it swung open.

And there it was: a private vault. Neatly stacked Galleons, boxes of enchanted silver, rolls of magical parchment bearing ancient contracts.

"Greedy little snake," Draco murmured.

He transferred everything to his pouch. Inside the pouch's vault-room, gold pooled like honey.

His heart beat faster. Ever since the ritual — the one with dragon's blood — something had changed. His mind still worked like a tactician, but now\... now gold spoke to him. Whispered to him. It sang of power, of future dominance.

When Hollow Barnett returned, one arm bandaged, his expression blank. He handed Draco a second pouch.

"Four million, five hundred four thousand, four hundred ninety-nine Galleons... ten thousand silver, eleven thousand Knuts."

"Good. Retrieve the owl. Thank the families when the rest of the money arrives."

Draco began transferring the newly gained wealth into his pouch, his custom-built vault room nearly glittering now with treasure.

When the last owl-bound letter was sent, Draco waved his wand and cleansed every trace of his presence from the room. He pulled out a makeshift alchemical black crystal and a rune-marked stone.

He handed both to Barnett. "Start walking when the clock strikes midnight. When it does, throw this black crystal in the air and say 'Pureblood.' Then keep walking. Do not stop. Do not speak. Do not turn.."

Draco stepped into the shadows, watching from afar. The clock neared midnight.

Draco stepped into the shadows, watching from afar. The clock neared midnight.

*20 seconds*

As the hands hit twelve, Barnett threw the grenade and whispered, "Pureblood."

The magic activated. Barnett vanished in a blink, transported to a high cliff above a raging sea. He didn't stop. His feet carried him over the edge as commanded.

Back in the shop, the grenade didn't explode in fire. It burst into a liquid mist — dark and corrosive. It poured across every surface, every crevice. The entire building began to melt slowly, erased from the world.

Draco stayed behind just long enough to burn the shop from memory — not with fire, but with liquefied magic. The alchemical grenade activated, releasing a corrosive mist that ate through stone, wards, and memory alike. By morning, nothing would remain.

He returned to his inn hours later, drained yet steady. The gold gleamed in his pouch, radiant in his private chamber.

He sat on the bed, breathing slowly, eyes fixed on the parchment listing components for his next ritual.

One word stood out.

"Found only in Hogwarts."

His lips curled into a faint smile.

"Soon," he whispered. "Soon."

..................

In the depths of the Forbidden Forest, shadows rustled under the canopy. A figure cloaked in layers of mist-colored robes stood beside a large iron cauldron, etched with protective enchantments.

A parchment changed hands — stamped with a sigil: a serpent curled around a vial.

"Alesis Elixirs," the informant whispered.

The figure said nothing, but held the pamphlet to the flames.

As it burned, the name seared into the cauldron's surface in glowing runes:

"The Future of Magical Healing Begins Here."

The figure turned away, the wind tugging at their cloak, vanishing into the woods as the chapter came to a close.